Rouleau only laughed, and began to hum a tune and shuffle a dance on
his stumps of feet.
"You'll see us, before long, passing up our way," said the other man.
"Well," said I, "stop and take a cup of coffee with us"; and as it
was quite late in the afternoon, I prepared to leave the fort at
once.
As I rode out, a train of emigrant wagons was passing across the
stream. "Whar are ye goin' stranger?" Thus I was saluted by two or
three voices at once.
"About eighteen miles up the creek."
"It's mighty late to be going that far! Make haste, ye'd better, and
keep a bright lookout for Indians!"
I thought the advice too good to be neglected. Fording the stream, I
passed at a round trot over the plains beyond. But "the more haste,
the worse speed." I proved the truth in the proverb by the time I
reached the hills three miles from the fort. The trail was faintly
marked, and riding forward with more rapidity than caution, I lost
sight of it. I kept on in a direct line, guided by Laramie Creek,
which I could see at intervals darkly glistening in the evening sun,
at the bottom of the woody gulf on my right.
